


But To My Surprise

by antheia



Category: CWRPS
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-28
Updated: 2006-06-28
Packaged: 2017-10-30 12:31:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/331767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antheia/pseuds/antheia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This never happened. Unless it did. But my point is: I don't know, and don't pretend to. I owe <a href="http://annalazarus.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://annalazarus.livejournal.com/"><b>annalazarus</b></a> major thanks for the unbelievably awesome beta. This is for <a href="http://packyrsuitcases.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://packyrsuitcases.livejournal.com/"><b>packyrsuitcases</b></a>, who asked for it more than two weeks ago and who has been waiting (mostly) patiently since.</p>
    </blockquote>





	But To My Surprise

**Author's Note:**

> This never happened. Unless it did. But my point is: I don't know, and don't pretend to. I owe [](http://annalazarus.livejournal.com/profile)[**annalazarus**](http://annalazarus.livejournal.com/) major thanks for the unbelievably awesome beta. This is for [](http://packyrsuitcases.livejournal.com/profile)[**packyrsuitcases**](http://packyrsuitcases.livejournal.com/), who asked for it more than two weeks ago and who has been waiting (mostly) patiently since.

_Flick. Snap.  
Flick. Snap.  
Flick. Snap._

All Jensen could hear was Mike playing with his ridiculous Harley Davidson lighter. It was pissing him off - the noise was so distracting that he couldn't focus on what Jared was saying, which was driving him fucking crazy, 'cos J. was talking about the goddamned Spurs.

"He might get a lot of press, dude, but Tony Parker is **not** overrated-" _Flick. Snap._

Jensen was done. "Mike. What the fuck?"

"Dude." _Flick._ "Relax." _Snap._

"Seriously, Rosenbaum. Stop fucking with it, you're driving me nuts."

"Bonus. But it's not like you had far to go." _Flick. Snap._

"Fuck you, man. Come on."

Mike met Jensen's glare, blue eyes steady, challenging him.

"Tell you what." _Flick._ "I'll let you have it, if..." _Snap._ "...you can _take_ it."

Jensen blinked at him. Mike had to be kidding - Jen had about twenty pounds and three months of fight training on him. Dude was fucking ridiculous, which wasn’t really news to anyone. Jensen drained his beer and stood up, the chair legs scraping on the bar floor.

"Okay, but we have to be back before my set starts on the jukebox. I'm gonna be pissed if I dropped five bucks for nothing," Mike added.

Jensen immediately reconsidered his one-two knockdown strategy - if he dragged this out long enough, he could avoid hearing "We Built This City" for the millionth night in a row. Mike stood up, chugged his beer and followed Jen outside. Tom and Jared weren't far behind, having decided that _someone_ should be the ref. Someone with a camera phone.

 

***

"Okay, Grasshopper: take the lighter from me," Mike said, and dropped the zippo in his right front pocket. "If you can." He began to dance around Jensen.

Jensen snatched in the general direction of Mike's pocket, while Tommy and Jared jeered.

"Get on with it, man!" Tom called.

"Yeah, our beer's getting warm!" Jared followed.

"Hey, nobody told you to follow us out here," Mike chided.

While Mike was distracted by the idiot twins, Jensen grabbed Mike’s shoulder and reached for his pocket. He felt his index finger slip into the denim, but Mike twisted away before he got a grip on the lighter. Jensen felt some nameless feeling tugging at his stomach when Mike smirked at him.

"Gotta move faster than that, pretty boy."

Shit, Jensen hadn't counted on Mike being such a wily motherfucker. They danced around each other for another five minutes, Jensen occasionally making a grab at Mike; Mike dodging each grab successfully.

"Fuck this, this is boring. Come on Texas, buy me a beer," Tom muttered. Jared slung an arm over Tom's shoulder and headed for the door.

"Seriously, come find us when you wrap it up, ladies," Jared called.

Mike turned to Jensen, "You ready to give up and head back inside?"

"You gonna stop fucking with that lighter if I do?"

"Hell no."

"Then we keep going." Jensen sighed, and looked Mike over. He agreed with Jared and Tom that this shit was getting old, but he couldn't go back inside and listen to Mike play with the lighter, knowing he’d lost. And there was no way Jensen was letting word get out that Dean Winchester had had his ass handed to him by Lex Luthor.

He took a deep breath and waited, watching Mike dance around. Suddenly there was an opening, and Jensen took it. Lunging forward, he swept Mike's legs out from under him with his own leg, and pushed him down with an elbow to the chest. Mike landed on the asphalt with an thud, followed by a grunt when Jensen dropped on top of him.

"Stop wriggling, asshole," Jensen hissed. "Just give up."

"Not a chance," Mike panted, twisting and thrusting his hips in an attempt to buck Jensen off his body. Jensen licked Mike's neck, which stunned Mike long enough for Jen to get a hand between them. He slipped his palm over Mike's hip, trying to get to the pocket. Mike was too fast, though, and he began wriggling again. Jensen's hand slipped, and suddenly-

"Whoa, hey. Watch the goods, dude."

"Whatever, give it up. I'm gonna get that lighter man," Jensen kept feeling around, but he was distracted. Probably it was just the alcohol and the friction, but Mike had been hard. At least, that’s what Jensen thought. He shook his head, thinking about how his own body had reacted. He pushed it away, trying to focus on something other than the way Mike’s wriggling made him feel so lightheaded. If he could just get his hand-

"OW! WHAT THE FUCK?!" Pain shot through Jensen's nose and eye-socket. He went limp and rolled off Mike, onto the asphalt. Jesus, Mike had boney fucking elbows. "That really fucking hurt, dude!"

"Oh, shit. I'm sorry, dude." Mike stood up and brushed the dirt off his pants, before offering a hand to Jensen. "Come on, man. Let me help you up. We'll put some ice on-"

"Did someone finally win?" Tom called from the door, Jared in tow. "'Cos me and Jared are bailing out. See you losers tomorrow."

"J! What the fuck?"

"No time for love, Dr. Jones." Jared paused. "Or, something." He started to giggle, as he and Tom headed for his car.

"Shit, that was my ride," Jensen muttered.

"Dude, I can take you home."

"Fine, but I'm picking the goddamned music."

***

As they'd pulled out of the lot, Mike had announced that it was too early for sleep. And Jensen conceded that he wasn't really tired. Which sort of explained why he was now standing in the middle of Mike's living room, singing "Free Bird" to a Clint Eastwood poster. Well, that and the Wild Turkey he was slugging from the bottle.

"Dude." He spun around, and spotted Mike walking to the sofa, an ice pack in one hand and a Ziploc baggie of pot in the other. Jensen ambled over, and plopped on the cushion next to Mike.

"For your eye," Mike said, dropping the ice pack into Jensen's lap.

"Thanks, man." Jensen leaned back into the couch and pressed the ice to his face, taking another swig of bourbon. He closed his eyes for a moment, listening to Mike open a series of drawers in search of his papers. When he finally opened them again, Mike had begun to put the pot on the paper.

Jensen watched the other man intently - the fact was that Michael Rosenbaum rolled the most perfect joints he'd ever seen. Mike pressed the paper and weed between his fingers, rolling it back and forth until it was packed right, then brought it to his mouth. His tongue flicked out, sliding quickly down the length of the paper. Jensen licked his own lips and shifted in his seat before leaning back into the couch and closing his eyes.

He heard the crack of leather and felt the cushions shift as Mike leaned back. It was followed by the clicking of the lighter and the intake of breath as Mike lit the joint and took the first pull. Jensen felt Mike tap his thigh, and opened his eyes just long enough to take the joint from between Mike's fingers. He shut his eyes as their fingers touched and licked his lips again.

He took a deep drag, and felt the sharp, familiar burning as the smoke filled his lungs. He fought the urge to cough, felt tears threatening the corners of his eyes; he sometimes wondered whether he'd ever quite get used to that feeling. He opened his eyes as he breathed out, reaching to pass the joint back when he heard the all-too-familiar strains of a terrible, terrible song begin its assault.

"Dude, are you kidding me?" Jensen sighed.

"What? How could you _possibly_ have a problem with Styx?" Mike asked, looking affronted, but reaching for the joint.

"You're joking, right?" He had to be joking.

"I'm not. Come on, you know you love it. Maybe you can't admit it to anyone else, but you can tell me. Smile. You love it."

Jensen took a deep breath, put the j in the ashtray, and lunged at Mike. Mike reached behind himself and wedged the remote between the arm of the couch and the cushion. Jensen's hand shot around and he began digging around in the couch as Mike shifted left and right, trying to keep Jensen from the tiny device. Mike’s squirming was proving to be very distracting -- Jensen couldn't help but notice the way Mike's thigh felt against his own. When Mike's leg pressed up against his crotch, Jensen stilled.

"If you want to make out, you should just say so, man," Mike smirked up at him. Jensen flopped back on the couch.

"You wish, Rosenbaum." Mike reached for the joint, and lit it again.

"Maybe I do, maybe I don't, but-" Mike sucked in a puff of smoke. "You definitely do," he finished, wheezing as he held in his breath.

"I hate when people talk while they’re taking a hit." Jensen knew he was evading, but he couldn't figure out what this fucker was up to, and he wasn't about to give too much away - he'd be mocked for weeks. Getting his ass kicked was bad enough, but everyone finding out that he had a crush on baldy over there? Too much, man. It would be too much.

 _Flick. Snap._ Jensen's looked up and found Mike, still leaning back, playing with his fucking zippo again.

"Jesus, man - what's your problem?"

"Me? I don't have a problem." _Flick. Snap._ "I'm just fine. You have a problem with me?" _Flick. Snap._

"Seriously, just give me the motherfucking lighter."

"Seriously? Make me." Without a thought, Jensen rocketed back over, reaching for the lighter. Mike's arm was raised back over the arm of the couch, like he was playing keep-away.

 _Moron_ , Jensen thought as his hand closed around Mike's fist. And then he felt Mike's lips on his neck, Mike's tongue darting out to skim along Jensen’s sensitive skin. Jensen felt a moan escape his lips and stilled. The room was becoming blurry, but something was crystallizing in his head.

"Mike?"

"Maybe I do." Mike raised an eyebrow at Jensen, daring him to make a move. Jensen considered his options: he could leave, run away and pretend this never happened; he could stay, but pretend that he wasn't interested; or he could...

He slid down Mike's body and kissed him, cautiously. Mike shifted, pressing their bodies closer together, and pulled Jensen's bottom lip into his mouth to bite at it. Mike's knuckles brushed against Jensen's hip, before he slipped his hand up under Jensen's shirt and glided it up to press Jensen closer. Jensen groaned, and shifted his knee down and to the left, so that he was straddling Mike’s leg. Mike gasped, and ground up against Jen's thigh. They broke apart, and Jensen smirked.

"Maybe?" Jensen muttered.

"Shut up, asshole," Mike rolled them to the floor, where they landed with a thump. Mike sat up and tugged his t-shirt over his head. Before Jensen could protest, Mike's lips were back on him, his hands skating over Jensen's ribs and stomach as he unbuttoned the Texan's shirt. Jensen sighed, and pushed up into the kiss, his tongue exploring the dark heat of Mike's mouth.

Jensen maneuvered them so that he was on top again and kissed Mike deeply while working at the opening to Mike's jeans. He grunted victoriously as they opened, and he tugged them down a bit. He kissed, licked, bit his way across Mike's jaw line, down his neck, gliding over his chest and stomach, before sliding down even further.

"Oh, GOD," Mike groaned, as Jensen wrapped his lips around Mike's cock and sucked down, his tongue butterflying as he went. Jensen felt Mike's hand slip around the base of his skull, his fingers curling against Jensen's neck. Jensen took that as a cue to keep going, and moved back up, circling the head of Mike's dick with his tongue.

"Jesus, where'd you-"

"Not my first time at the rodeo," Jensen murmured, sucking down again, and back up - focusing on the task at hand. He used most of the dirty tricks he’d learned over the years, and it wasn't long before Mike was choking out oaths, obscenities and Jensen's name as he came hard and fast.

"Shit," Mike muttered, trying to catch his breath as Jensen licked his lips and nuzzled the inside of Mike's thighs. He hesitated for a moment, and then took advantage of Mike's slack body beneath him - sliding a hand into the front pocket of Mike's jeans and pulling out the zippo.

"I win," Jensen said, as he crawled up Mike's body to kiss him. "Where's my prize?"

Mike smiled into the kiss, drawing patterns on Jensen's back with the tips of his fingers.

"You're gonna have to give me a second. But I think I can work something out."


End file.
